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31 December 2013

I was asked this question the other day and after thinking about my college years, learning about Ethnic Literature as well as American Literature, I pondered these differences. What I wrote then and what I read now (mostly horror and mystery) are quite different, but not by much. I've read a few debates about genre vs. literary fiction, and I discovered that so many authors get up in arms about their beloved writing, no matter with which group they relate.

Writers love what they produce on the page, like any artist to a canvas. So, it shouldn't be surprising that we defend our artistic pieces. So many critique our styles, our motivations, and our elitist attitudes. That's right, I just called us a bunch of elitists. I state this in a self-deprecating sense though, just to get it out there, in case you're already thinking of me as a literary snob. Yes, I'll admit, I love literary fiction, and I'm happy to share my favorite excerpts.

So, what IS the difference?

Lovers of literary fiction fall deeply with the idea of the work and the internal growth within the characters. They love the experience of reading the work, its beauty and simplicity. The introspection with which the story demands is the most compelling element of literary fiction, aside from its eloquently, flowing cadence.

I cried when I read David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. Why? Because the growth of David, the boy, into David, the man, was a phenomenal read and it touched me. I don't know how else to explain it.

Success, in the eye of the literary author, is experienced by the accumulation of acclaim by other literary types. The motivation is not for monetary gain, but rather the acknowledgement of the beauty within their intellectually stimulating prose.

Lovers of genre fiction enjoy a quick read with twists and plot. They are entertained by conflict and the elements of surprise, which pave the paths of their heros and heroines. Their experience is like a ride in a theme park. The masses love a good mystery or a great horror story. Many even love the romance, paranormal included.

Genre fiction is in high demand and so the number of copies sold and landing on the Best Seller list are indications of success for the genre fiction author, and thus monetary gain being the motivation behind writing. I'm not saying genre authors are not eloquent or compelling, and that they don't love to write, but simply their motivations are different due to a vast audience.

OH EM GHEE, did I just generalize? Yes, I think I did.

Am I adding to the stereotypes of literary snobs and genre rock stars? I hope not. This post was written in order to objectively compare and contrast, briefly, these two fiction types. I couldn't be more broad. Or could I?

Did I leave anything out? Should I have mentioned more about one group or the other?

26 December 2013

Another Christmas has passed, and so in retrospect, I wanted
to leave you with my thoughts on gift giving and the meaning of Christmas, at least
for me. I've always tried to give gifts I felt challenged my kids and at the
same time, kept them interacting with their environments.

When I was a kid, I wanted a microscope. Not the toy ones
where you can magnify things up to 5 times. I wanted the one where you can see
the bacteria in your spit or the actual construct of a booger. Call me gross,
but I had the mind of a future genius. All gone to waste because I didn't get
the things I so desperately desired, aside from the Casper mask and other favorite toys. So I’m over-dramatizing.

Anything which inspired me was a no go. No Play Doh for
Diane!

No, she cannot have that paint set, that goop factory, or that chemistry
lab. Instead, she can have this Barbie doll and the doll whose hair you pull
from a hole at the top of its head to make the strands "grow" or at
least appear to.

"Look!" My mom would say. "Her hair
grew!"

No, it didn't. You pulled it
out from inside her head.

Push the button on her belly or turn the knob on her back,
and miraculously the hair disappears into the void from whence it came. I once
tried to cut open my doll to see how that worked, but my mom caught me. I
recall that horrified look on her face and the several days of concern and
careful observation, until she came to realize I wasn't turning into a
psychopath.

No matter how messed up and tangled my Barbie's hair ever
got, my parents would buy another one the next Christmas, or for my birthday.
Wasn't it obvious I didn't care about my dolls? Seriously.

They always ended up
at the bottom of the toy box, headless and missing one or more appendages. I
didn't do it on purpose. They just got stuck between other toys and when yanked
out from underneath, while looking for something more important, this was the resulting
evolution of the doll. Not all girls play with Barbie.

I imagine where my life would be today had I gotten the
microscope. Instead, I got the Spirograph. Remember that beast? I could never
get the pens to fit nicely into most of the holes. And in order to make any of
the really cool shapes, you'd spend hours spinning the gear, keeping it from
jumping track. All the while, your pen bends profusely just before it snaps in
half.

Maybe I've just grown bitter that I didn't get all those
other things I so wanted when I was a kid. I could get them for myself today,
but I'm too old and not as curious as when I was a kid. Keep those minds fed
and those passions of your children aflame.

If your kids make out a list to
Santa which contains a questionable item, be sure it's not an absolute NO
before you have a moment to reflect. Why does your child want that particular
thing and why is it not something you would consider?

It was too expensive

(the microscope)

It was too messy

(the finger-paints)

It was too dangerous

(the pump BB gun)

It was too risque

(the albino rat snake as a pet - in Japan, those things were protected by law)

Is there anything you ever wanted for Christmas (or any
other occasion) that you never got?

23 December 2013

What is the one thing you love to do just before sitting down to write? I love making myself a cup of Vanilla Hazelnut coffee with the Keurig I got for Christmas a couple years ago.

However, my kitchen is now a prison for my dogs, where I put up a gate to keep them from wandering about the house when we're not home, and even when we are home. The kitchen soon became a permanent station for Maggie and Biscuit (both are picture links. Go ahead, have a look). Thus, this post.

It is now time to upgrade the kitchen and fix a few things. We must banish the inmates to another part of the house in order to make repairs. We've decided to replace the counter tops, so now is a good time to replace this particular cabinet.

Must. Contain. Anger!

Yes, Maggie's attempt at a prison break was unsuccessful, but I'm sure she felt some form of redemption over the destruction of my property. I imagine, equally, she felt great joy in her attempts to eat my house.

Must. Not. Kill. Dog!

Evidence of yet another attempted break from the confines of their permanent residence.

Now that you have an idea of the much needed repairs to my dear kitchen, let me share with you the joys of making coffee again.Alas! My newly installed kitchen counter tops and stone back splash. Merry Christmas!

12 December 2013

The unwieldy Realtor is my character of the day. Why? Because I'm picking my jaw up from off the floor as I'm writing this. I'm dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. I'm literally at a loss for words, so maybe I should just start from the beginning?

My son sends me a listing on Trulia.com. It's a 3 bedroom, 2.5 bath condominium located in the same complex as the 2 bedroom, 1 bath unit we purchased a couple of years ago. I'm pretty familiar with the complex and go there often to collect rent from our tenant or to check on the property.

With a $37,000 list price, I'm guessing we can knock off a couple thousand from that. It would need some work, a few upgrades maybe, and I'm in business. I send my email to the listing agent and receive a rather quick response:

From: mariela

Sent: Monday, December 9, 2013 4:59:51 PM

Subject: 2731 Blairstone

Good afternoon,

I received your email that you are looking for help with this property mentioned above.

So far, this exchange is quite pleasant and I'm really anxious to get started on my new venture in acquiring investment property, you know, to secure my future income a bit. I get a response back, also quick:

On Dec 11, 2013, at 3:30 PM, "mariela" <mariela> wrote:

Diane,

Are you going to finance this property or pay cash? More likely the property has to be purchase cash for the condition of the place.

Are you working with any Realtor to help you write an offer?

Looking forward helping you with your home,

Mariela

Now I'm a little irritated, but we'll see how she responds. I'm clearly looking for a date and time.

10 December 2013

So, the labor guys finally made it to my house. It's 5:00 p.m. and they have informed me they will need 3 to 4 hours to install my granite counter tops. Nice, right? I kind of wanted to step out tonight and maybe grab a beer or two. Instead, I get to listen to my Uncle Si bobble head call out, "I'm down like a rodeo clown" or "Hey, that's a fact, Jack!" every time one of these guys pounds away at the old counter top.

Easy! Jeez. Yeah, my son gifted it to me for my birthday last month. I love Duck Dynasty, but this thing going off every 2 seconds is driving me nuts. I had originally moved it off the washing machine when I caught it blasting away during the spin cycle. I never heard Si talk so much, saying the same thing over and over again. Oh wait, yes I have.

Anyway, so they're putting in the new counters this evening, and that means tomorrow, a day for which I took annual leave to enjoy my new kitchen, I get to spend the day putting away all these items I had to remove from my cabinets and drawers.

I know this looks messy now, but I will have a brand new kitchen ready to give a home to these items soon enough. It'll get squared away. The least I can do is have a positive attitude. This is the best Christmas present ever. We're doing the floor ourselves. Here's a photo of the old counter tops. I snapped it Sunday night after all day of cussing, stomping, and throwing scrap laminate. Sorry Tim! He apologized too, so now we're friends again. This is progress!

The tile guy comes on Friday, so I'll be sure to update you with new photos of this project I call From Hell to Heaven in 7 Days.

02 December 2013

This is an old post I had to remove because the Facebook embed video functionality broke. Now there's a link instead. Watch, listen, and enjoy.

Today's Character of the Day, The Bull Rider!

Well, I'm heading out on vacation for the next two weeks. I'll still post when I have a chance, but I wanted to leave you with this video. But Diane, it doesn't have anything to do with writing or making progress!

You're right, it doesn't. This guy apparently isn't making ANY progress. But since this was taken at Coyote Ugly in Panama City Beach while on vacation, I thought it a nice reminder of how much fun it will be to vacation again after a whole year! Now THAT's progress.

Anyways, enjoy the video. In case you're curious, I admit, that is me you will hear, laughing hysterically. Signing off and wishing you well!

In case you're wondering why we were recording and laughing, it's not because he wasn't making progress in his attempts to ride the bull. I rode that bull the same evening. Trust me, it's hard! The fun in it all was he claimed to have ridden one in Texas...of which he boasted having held on for 6-8 seconds. Imagine our shock! :D

Many Blogger authors are experiencing issues with the Blogger Search Box Gadget. If you are using this gadget on your site, you may have similar issues when searching keywords you know exist on your site. If you receive an "x" at the top right when you should be receiving search results, then you are experiencing what other Blogger authors are experiencing.

Don't fret, and it's useless to post issues in the Google forums at this time, as I'm sure they are very busy.
Log into your Blogger account and navigate to your layout. Yours may have a different layout, but either way, hopefully you have the option to "Add a Gadget".

Click on it and select HTML/JavaScript.

You are ready to customize your own HTML Search Box! Select and copy the following code and be ready to paste it into your new gadget (in case Blogger inserts extra coding, the code in the picture below is all that you should need! Type it in):

In the Title area type "Search this blog" and if you want to change "Go!" in the code to "Onward!" or whatever suits your fancy pants, then do it. Just make sure it stays within the double quotes. Now, paste the code into the content area.

Make sure you replace "yourblog" with the actual name of your blog, and don't forget to save the gadget.

I know it can be frustrating when a huge organization such as Google does not respond to your inquiries. I'm sure they are working to find a universal fix so that all of the Blogger templates will be satisfied. Just know that these simple HTML elements have been around forever and they still work!

29 November 2013

Most people who know me understand I don't do well flying in airplanes. That's why whenever I'm prescribed Hydrocodone after a dental procedure or any other painful injury, I save those pain killers for days like yesterday, a day that could have been the worst day of my life. That's right, I flew in an airplane...while on dope.

I take a pill just before the security checkpoint where they make you spread your legs and put your hands in the air so all the TSA agents can gawk at you in all their power, glory, and cheesy outfits. After the full body scan is complete, the guard waves me through without a hitch. I giggle slightly because my daughter is pulled aside for further inspection. Apparently, her Miss Me jeans were too blingy.

I have this well planned out, because it's the third time I've traveled in this state of mind. I take a pill about 30 minutes before take off and I'm good to go, usually laying over either in Charlotte or Atlanta. The hour or two delay in either city's airport is not a problem as they have establishments serving up draft beer, which puts a loopy spin on the pain killer.

The second flight boards at 8:15 p.m. and I'm feeling relaxed. Matter of fact, flying is a breeze. Why anyone would have a problem with flying is beyond me. I check out all the nervous passengers and give each a wide smile. Some I wink at, "I got this. Piece of cake." They stare back at me, worry on their faces. I reassure them, everything is going to be fine.

Flight takes off. All is good. My daughter has the seat behind me. The flight will be fifty two minutes according to the flight attendant speaking over the intercom. There must be fifteen babies on this flight, all crying in unison. The more babies on the flight, the less likely the plane will go down. Why? Because God loves babies.

The intercom system activates again and we are promised refreshments shortly.

Perfect. I order a Miller Lite. The attendant is super nice. Positive vibes rub off.

The lady next to me orders apple juice for her 10 year old son and a Diet Coke for herself. Her son spills both, but I'm cool as a cucumber and drink my beer.

I feel a couple bumps and drops and people around me look at each other and all around. But I'm good. I smile and nod at a few. They turn away, holding the arms of their chairs a little too tightly. The babies even stop crying and it is as if everyone is holding their breaths. Not me. I'm cool as a cucumber.

Then my daughter touches my shoulder from behind, "Mom, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

A few hours later, the alcohol leaves my system and we're in our hotel room. My daughter is bewildered and appears animated while talking about our flight. Apparently, the plane had an unusual amount of turbulence and people on the plane were freaking out. I would have been one of those people had I not saved up my pain killers like a squirrel creating their stash of acorns for the winter.

What on earth does this have to do with making progress? A year ago, we would have wasted 12 hours driving to our destination. I've learned to be more efficient with my time. Though I do not condone the use of prescription medication for purposes which they are not prescribed, on occasion, I put the finger to such policies for the sake of my own comfort. To me, that's progress!

P.S. This is a fictitious character telling the details of our flight to Roanoke. I refuse to incriminate myself. It's fiction with a little bit of truth. Call it the unreliable narrator. ;)

21 November 2013

A fellow blogger at the FWA Conference Blog posted an interesting article and my comment to his article grew into a bit of a rant, so rather than post the entire comment on his blog, I decided to share it here and back link to the article. Here's a glimpse:

An author I follow on Facebook posted the other day that she was talking to a middle school group and brought up that one of her novels involved Mexican drug cartels. Several of the middle schoolers in attendance immediately and forcefully declared her work to be racist. Based on her Facebook post, she reasonably found the experience to be unsettling.

rac·ist [rey-sist] noun
1.
a person who believes in racism, the doctrine that a certain human race is superior to any or all others.

adjective
2.
of or like racists or racism: racist policies; racist attitudes.

How does writing a novel involving Mexican drug cartels have anything to do with being racist? If her novel is about Mexican dope dealers selling drugs, smuggling prostitutes, and all other kinds of negative things, it's STILL not racist. So why are we teaching this to our children?

The last thing I would ever do is compromise the integrity of my story by tip toeing around social issues. I think I've mentioned that before. It seems to me the mass media has taken to the role of policing creative inspiration by filling our minds with this nonsense of everything being racist if it is the least bit offensive to any group. I see this more often today than I have ever before.

I guess she could have written about a Japanese drug cartel instead. Only that wouldn't make any sense, because the Yakuza are not as famously recognized in the media as are the Mexican drug cartels. The Yakuza would wipe out any Mexican drug cartel because everyone knows, with over 103,000 members, the Japanese house is, by far, the superior criminal organization.

Now, that's racist.

Personally, I think authors risk more by presenting their characters "out of character" than if they simply tell the story. We've built this wonderful country upon common goals and objectives, yet we came together as people from different cultures and backgrounds, and we're still struggling.

The magic of fiction. I can be whoever I want to be!

Don't you think it's time we embrace Ethnic Literature in the classroom? Let our children read what real authors write about their own culture and people. Let them know it's okay to be different, that our differences are accepted, and it's okay to talk about our differences, our cultures, and our history. The good. The bad. The ugly.

I absolutely loved Ethnic Literature. It was my favorite class in college. I wish I could recall the name of the text book. It was a compilation of short stories by authors of varying cultural backgrounds. I remember stories by Chinese, Italian, African, and Mexican authors, and I was blown away by the unfiltered honesty in the stories they shared about themselves and each other.

I wish people would stop criticizing and start opening their hearts to the dialogue being shared. Get passed the individual shame and embrace humanity as a whole and I believe you will feel less inclined to accuse anyone of being a racist, even if they write fictitious stories about racist characters. At least, that's how I see it. There was a lively discussion about this issue at the end of Stephen King's short story, Herman Wouk Is Still Alive.

I'm not minimizing racism. Racists do exist. Call them out when you see fit, but like the big bad wolf, the boy who cried wolf is out there as well. When he cries wolf too many times, the power of his cry is diminished. People don't hear the cry anymore. It's weakened to the point it's not effective.

Do you think society has been too quick to call things racist or sexist? Is it easier to do that than it is to analyze what's presented before us? As writers, do you find yourselves oppressed and your creative inspirations wilted over the fear of being branded or criticized as was this author?

16 November 2013

Way back in the day, when I was in college, my psychology instructor introduced a new phrase which, until yesterday evening, I never really understood. This has been a mind blowing revelation, so please follow along.

The phrase I'm sharing today is cognitive dissonance. If you're a smarty pants and already know what this means, great! For the rest of us, it is broken down as such.

cog•ni•tive[kog-ni-tiv]
Adjective - of or pertaining to the act or process of knowing, perceiving, remembering, etc.; of or relating to cognition

The term cognitive dissonance is used to describe the feeling of discomfort that results from holding two conflicting beliefs.

How does one hold two conflicting beliefs? Well, that depends on your motives at any given moment, right? This is how it came to me. Because up until last night, I don't believe I'd ever had conflicting beliefs. I'm not a republican AND a democrat. I'm not a Christian AND a Buddhist. Get it? That's why this phrase had always been difficult for me to comprehend.

I'll start with the day before. Tim had been working in Miami, so I had some time on my hands and the Yorkie had made a matted mess of her backside. I took this opportunity to comb out her lovely locks. She's a ball of fire, and in order to get her to calm down, I had to hold her steady on the kitchen counter. I know this is not the preferable place to do this, but it was convenient. Was there an epiphany at this moment? No. That came later.

So, I'm combing her hair, pulling out knots, very careful not to trigger any yips from this four pound pooch. All the while, she's excited about this nearby tomato I'd taken a slice off earlier during lunch. I'm a bit embarrassed, but I guess I should have put it away, else she wouldn't be so distracted. If she sniffed it, she would realize it wasn’t some hunk of meat. She'd probably leave it be and I could finish combing out her matts.

Okay, so I let her sniff it. How was I to know she liked tomatoes? I snatched her away, but not before she'd taken several licks from the exposed end. I made a note to throw it out because I'd rather waste nearly an entire tomato than to risk sharing that reeking saliva of hers. It would probably eat its way into the core of the fruit. I'm not being mean. This dog's tongue has been places. I'm embarrassed, again.

All of these things I'm describing to you here are all cognitive. I'm knowing, perceiving, and remembering. I'm very aware of all these things at the moment, but our processing of information changes when we're in a different environment, with different people and different motives. So, enough about the Yorkie for now.

Tim arrived home yesterday and we made a quick trip to the store to stock up on some essentials, namely beer. I decided to accompany him to the store because he'd been gone and I figured we could get caught up on things. And, just for the sake of contrast, Tim's the bargain shopper and I'm the "get in, get it, and get out" type of shopper, and on that evening I had to pee. However, I knew it could wait since we only live 15 minutes away.

So the dissonance part? He starts his bargain shopping for things I felt we could pick up another time, a time when I wasn't consciously aware of my expanding bladder.

"Oh, I know what I needed to get," he says.

Groan!

I say, "Okay, let's get it and go."

He goes back two more aisles and grabs a few more items. I said he's a bargain shopper, not an efficient one. Meanwhile, my bladder is filling up.

Suddenly, he stops pushing the cart and I slam into his back. "What do you want for breakfast in the morning?" he asks.

"I don't care, BLTs."

"Good, I got bacon the other day and we have lettuce. I just need to get a loaf of bread."

At this point, I'm not even listening anymore because my bladder is so full and I'm agreeing with everything. No more items! Stop adding items to the list and let's get the hell out of here!

"Can we go now?" I plead.

"Yep, let's get out of here."

My hero! Peeing is going to feel soooo good.

We head toward the checkout and Tim says, "We have a tomato at home. I saw it on the counter."

12 November 2013

When introducing a new character into my stories, I ask myself
3 questions and if any of these cannot be answered, I make
the decision either to omit the character or to provide scenes which have these areas covered. The answers to my questions are fully explained using the
addition of Benjamin, the Belgian shepherd in Precinct 9.

Will the character be instrumental in moving the plot
forward?

When adding Benjamin, a.k.a. Benny, to my novel, I didn't have
any plot elements set up to justify him, but I really wanted him in it because he's an
awesome dog. So I created two plot elements. I had to make sure
he will have purpose, he will be responsible for moving the plot along, and his actions will cause a change in my
protagonist's journey. They are simple cause and effect elements.

Will the character provide a means to further develop my
protagonist?

The relationship a character has with the protagonist is important to me and the more intimate the relationship, the more depth I can bring to
both even if the relationship is a negative one. Remember Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling in Silence of the Lambs?

Benny doesn’t share a
negative relationship with Kelly, but I use him to show how much control she has over such a ferocious animal. He's a disciplined police dog and could bring down any 200 pound man who poses a threat. I consider his role to be the sidekick rather than protector. It's one of many roles I considered in the Writer's Dream Kit.

Will the character remain unchanged at the outcome of my
story?

Absolutely not!

Lots of things happen to characters during the course of a story. Even if I don't make a change for the character, the character changes. They have to for me. Why else have this character come along for the ride? It can't be merely as a form of
entertainment.

Things happen. Relationships end. People die. Others fall in love.
Something has to happen to every character I introduce or I simply cannot get
excited about writing their journey. In my stories, every character has
a journey, no matter how minor compared to the protagonist’s.

Conclusion:

Why do I do this?

Because I want my stories to feel as if
everything I introduce is fully integrated. I don't want to make that
mistake of introducing someone for the sake of having a really cool
character in my story. I don't want to create any babies, if you know
what I mean.

Do you have a process you use to keep your stories tight from
the beginning? Maybe you have guidelines and/or standards you pursue. Care to
share them? Comments are welcome, as always!

04 November 2013

When I think of dialogue, I always think about the snippets I post on Facebook where my husband and I exchange quips back and forth, Tim dishing the wittier throw backs, of course. In order for your characters to sound real, make sure that every word counts.

I've gone back through the past year and have compiled some of my favorites, and they're not all between me and Tim. Some involve exchanges with customer service representatives.

If you take a moment and record dialogue that you've had yourselves and re-read them, you can see the characters are there, in all their three dimensional selves.

I can give these snippets to any of my friends, minus the tags, and they can tell which is Tim and which is me just by the things we say and how we say them, what context. This is how dialogue should be in your fiction as well. Your characters should exude who they are through their actions and their dialogue.

These are complete accounts, word for word. I've added some actions to put things in perspective. I'm calling these Timisms.

September 17, 2012

Tim studies the connector and speaks into the phone, "I'm installing a dishwasher you delivered today and I need to purchase an adapter for the connector."

A Lowe's representative says, "Sir, you should hire a plumber to do that."

Tim raises an eyebrow, "Really? Should I also hire an electrician to plug it in?"

31 October 2013

I wanted to celebrate this Halloween season by sharing a spooky story, but instead, I decided to make a trip to Salem, Massachusetts and visit the Witch Trial Wax Museum. I’ve been asked by many, “What’s in Salem?”

History!

Did you know that the damning evidence used in the Salem Witch trials to convict these innocent men and women who were then condemned to hang at the gallows was this thing called spectral evidence? That means young girls (witnesses) accused certain people of casting evil spells upon them and the way they identified the person is they testified they saw the person in a non-physical state. It was thought that the only way they could present themselves in this form is by making a deal with the devil.

These witnesses would be on display in the courthouse, possessed, screaming out that they were being targeted in the very room where the accused stood trial. Anyone familiar with the Manson trial and the gaggle of young women who claimed Manson spoke to them in their minds from where he sat while they testified? Spooky.

Spectral evidence alone in many cases ensured the so called “witches” hung for their crimes. The fear spread quickly throughout Salem and 20 people were executed for practicing witchcraft before the governor ceased the trials. Why did he put an end to the trials? Because his wife, as well as a few other prominent citizens, were accused. Imagine that.

According to a local museum, to this day, only one judge has made apologies for this unfortunate historical tragedy, and only one of the “witnesses” expressed sorrow for her part in this fiasco. Amazingly enough, we find out this all started from the isolation of three women, Sarah Good, a homeless person, Tituba, a slave, and a woman named Sarah Osborne, who remarried to an indentured servant.

Local magistrates tossed the three accused women in jail and the folks of Salem discovered the power wielded in the accusations of witchcraft. Thus began the wildfire that spread from the underlying family feud between the Putnams and the Porters. Fueled by fear and mass hysteria, things had obviously gotten out of hand, especially when prominent citizens had fingers pointing at them.

How did you spend your Halloween? Trick or treating? Giving out candy? What about haunted houses? We went through this one.

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